The City of Towers

INTERLUDE

The first thing Rasial noticed was the smell. His nostrils were filled with it-a cloying blend of cinnamon, sulfur, and burned flesh.

The second sensation was sound-bubbling, dripping, a vast assortment of liquid noise.

Sight returned before touch. He was lying on a curved table, staring up at an arched ceiling hewn into solid stone. The table was slightly tilted, his feet higher than his head, and his head throbbed with the rush of blood. After a moment he realized that he was spread-eagled on the surface, his numbed limbs attached to the table with steel manacles. He could only move his head a little, but he could see that he was surrounded by large glass tanks, each filled with a different shade of luminous fluid; the only light in the chamber came from this rippling liquid. Vague shapes were moving in some of these tanks, casting shadows across the ceiling. Writhing tentacles, pulsating amoebae …

Was that a hand?

His own limbs were completely numb. Tentatively, he tried channeling the shadows through his dragonmark.

Nothing. No flow of power, no pain. Was it just a side effect of the venom or spell that held him paralyzed? Or was there something else at work?

“I thank you, Rasial Tarkanan. You have proved doubly useful to our cause.”

Rasial stiffened at the sound of the oily voice. With an immense effort, he lifted his head to look for the source of the sound.

The hooded man stood at the foot of the table, but he wasn’t hooded any longer. His visage was even more horrific than the momentary glimpse had implied. Hands, neck, face … all a horror. In place of skin the man had pulsing, bloody muscle. The cords and sinews seemed unnaturally thick, and they moved of their own accord, twitching in ways that normal muscular contraction couldn’t account for. He was larger than Rasial had realized-layers of wet muscle bulging beneath simple brown robes. His eyes were sunk deep within his sockets, and they glittered with madness. His mouth was a bloody ruin, and bony talons tipped his spidery fingers.

“What are you?” Rasial whispered. Simply moving his jaw was almost impossible, and forcing the words through his throat took every ounce of willpower he possessed.

“What I am is irrelevant. The question is what I will become. Thanks to you, I am one step closer to the answer.” His mouth … there was something wrong with his mouth, but Rasial couldn’t quite make sense of it.

“What … become …?”

“Don’t struggle, Rasial. You have served us well. My master comes, and he shall grant you the rest you deserve.”

Rest? Was this monster going to kill him? After everything he’d done, all he’d been through, was this how he was going to die?

You will not die. Embrace eternity in me.

It took a moment for Rasial to realize that the thought was not his own.